The Desolation of Mitchell Hower
by exterminatedcircuit
Summary: Fifteen year old Mitchell Hower has led a life of strife and When a childhood friend returns to help, he finds himself in the midst of a powerful He must face the path that has been predicted, and stand strong against both sides of His journey is hard and long, will he prevail? Slightly Warning: Gore, A Rewriting of Beginning Of


"_Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat."_

_-Mother Teresa _

"_Lately I've been hard to reach; I've been too long on my own  
Everybody has a private world where they can be alone  
Are you calling me? Are you trying to get through?  
Are you reaching out for me, like I'm reaching out for you?"_

_-Eminem, "Beautiful"_

I thrashed, screaming, pulling my hand back away from the maw of the monstrous beast that stood before me. It looked like a giant, as big as a sedan, mastiff with jet black fur, which was matted with god-knows what and blood. Its face was coated in blood. My blood, I realized as I went to run, tripping over my feet and falling into Olivia, who was crying and struggling to pull me back away from the monster that had been chasing us for the last hour or so.

The hound barked and we both screamed, putting our hands to our ears, trying to block out the ear shattering sound. I lowered my hands slowly, drawing my bronze dagger. I was angry, weak, and hurt. I wanted to kill this son of a bitch, _now_. I snarled at it and it snarled back. Olivia was busy trying to push a dumpster out of the way so we could reach a small alley way, too small for the vicious monster that was standing before us.

I clenched my injured hand, yelping in pain. I didn't want to look, so I didn't. I just tucked my hand into my jacket, gripping the cloth to stanch the bleeding. I twirled my tiny dagger, which was effectively a bronze toothpick for this fucker. I snarled again, mimicking the hound. It didn't seem to like that, and snapped its jaws at me. I quickly stepped back, nearly running into Olivia.

It took the chance of my fumbling to lunge at me. Olivia screamed, but I slashed towards it, making it jump back. It growled in frustration, and paced the street that we were on. It was completely deserted. The sun was setting behind the clouds. Snow swirled around us, biting at our noses and ears, making me shiver. I felt lightheaded, but I couldn't just drop. Olivia needed me. I gritted my teeth, slashing at the dog again to keep it at bay. It snarled, feinting towards me before jumping back again. I just slashed again, trying to convey that I was dangerous; however I don't think I was succeeding.

I was eternally grateful we decided to keep these little knives. We had nearly thrown them off the Michigan Avenue Bridge in Chicago. When that asshole just got up and left us to starve, we didn't want anything to do with him, not even these nifty daggers. Seth had been our big brother, though not biologically. He had found us in Chicago, and helped us out. He gave us a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to wear. He taught us math, English, and even some Spanish. He taught us how to fight and to defend ourselves. He taught us how to climb walls fast, and jump between buildings. He gave us hope for survival.

Then he left, without a note, without a word, without an explanation. After that, we left Chicago, unable to stay where he abandoned us. We were tired of being abandoned.

I stabbed towards the hound, overhanded, cursing it. It jumped back and I settled in a defensive position, snarling at it. It snarled back, but stepped back slowly, eyeing my dagger. We had almost thrown them away, and if we had, we would've died years ago. Only these daggers killed the things we faced, the giant dogs, the bird-women things, and anything else hell decided to spit out at us. I stabbed at it again, expecting it to jump back. Olivia had pushed the dumpster out of the way, and I just needed enough room to turn and run into the safety.

I yelled as I stabbed towards it, and it mirrored without a roar of its own and lunged towards me. It was too fast, and I couldn't dodge it. I tried, though, rolling towards my left, my dominant side. Before I hit the ground, though, the hound grabbed my arm and shook its head, snarling and digging its horrible teeth into my arm. I screamed as it shook my body around, slamming me into whatever it could find. I heard something crack within me, before pain shot through my lungs. Before I could scream in pain, the hound flung me into a brick wall, into the corner where the alley way met the street.

I slumped to the ground, tears threatening to spill over. I groaned in horrible pain. I struggled to stand, to fight back this hound, but when I opened my eyes, I couldn't see clearly. Everything was blurred and tilted and I felt sick. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stand, before slipping into the alley way, hoping to find Olivia. When I didn't see her, I turned quickly back to the hound. I screamed in pain, my ribs protesting quite violently. I slumped against the wall, blinking through the pain to try and find my sister.

And there she was, on the ground with the monster heading right towards her. Time seemed to slow and my injuries seemed only like paper cuts. I lunged forward just as she stood up straight. I had managed to keep my dagger, and she brandished her own. Mine entered through the right eye of the beast just as hers went up under the jaw and into the maw. The hound shrieked in agony, and thrashed before crumbling, as all the monsters did, into dust.

Before I could say anything, or do anything, my pain came back to my body in one sweep. I could barely stand, my sides was protesting with pain, and my head was killing me. I couldn't see straight, and I couldn't hear properly. Everything sounded muffled. My arm was bleeding, as was my hand. I felt a wet touch on my cheek and I flinched. My body threatened to shut down, leaving Olivia to fight on her own, so I fought it. I grabbed Olivia's wrist, pulling her hand back, and looking at her. Her face was badly cut, and I knew it would scar. Her side was bleeding, and she was limping. We both were pretty messed up. She was also crying. I pulled her into the alley way as much as I could, trying to support her but failing miserably.

"Mitchell," she whimpered in pain, finally stopping me and pushing me against the wall and forcing me onto the ground. "Take a moment," she whispered, stroking my bloody, dirty blonde hair. I nodded slowly, eyes fluttering. I was so tired, but I felt like I couldn't sleep. That I just couldn't, or else I wouldn't wake up. So I fought the sleep that ebbed at my eyes. Everything hurt, but not as bad, and I felt like that was a very bad thing. So I gripped my arm, the one that was mangled and ripped apart with the hand that was covered in blood and barely aching. I gripped it tightly and the pain shot through my arm and through my hand, racing up to my chest and I breathed in sharply. My sides protested and I groaned softly, forcing myself to keep my grip tight.

It felt like only a second when Olivia dragged me up. The world tilted violently and I pushed her away, leaning over and vomiting against the wall. She grunted in disgust, but rubbed my back gently. She carefully pulled me up again, and I leaned against her and she leaned against me, and we carried on. I don't know where we were going; just that we were going somewhere and anywhere was better than here, in the cold and suffering. She pulled me along and we stopped every now and then, to give her a break for her leg, and to let my head settle a little. We weaved through the city via alley ways, until we finally found the industrial park. We shuffled along until Olivia found the shit hole we were staying in. She pulled me into the old house and closed the door behind us. It was no warmer inside.

She forced me to sit down and I whined in pain, eyes closing, but hand still gripping my arm to stay awake. I heard her move around and I heard her toss something into the old, cracked, burnt fireplace. I opened my eyes to watch her light the firewood, and then she turned to me as she turned on a huge flashlight we had. I realized that she had ripped her undershirt and used it to tie it around her side, stanching the bleeding there. Clever. She must've done it that first rest we had.

She carefully pried my hand off my arm and gasped. I groaned in pain as she forced my hand flat. My eyes unfocused as she let go and I breathed in slowly, pain licking at my lungs and ribs. I tried not to breathe too much as I blinked, watching my twin get a plastic bowl and a jug of water. She poured the water into the bowl and wet a rag. As she picked up my hand, I just watched her face. She was dirty with dried blood caking her face. Her bright blue eyes seemed blurred, like she was about to cry. I lifted my uninjured hand and captured a tear just as it spilled over onto her cheek. She smiled weakly as me. I smiled back, but it faded when she dabbed at my hand with the rag. I jerked, but she gripped my wrist tightly.

I almost looked, but I didn't want to see the damage the hound did to my hand, so I just looked at her, studying her like an artist would and I imagined her posing for an artist looking just as she did now. Her hair was pulled back in a sloppily bun. I knew her hair was tangled and matted. I tried to brush her hair out as often as I could. She refused to cut it. She loved her hair, even when it was ugly and matted. I loved it too.

We had the same type of hair, straight and thick, and blonde. A honey blonde, like the sun's rays, though most of the time it looked like a dull dirty blonde. Olivia had long eyelashes, like me, and full lips, like me. We were fraternal twins, but when we were younger, we could've passed as identical, especially if she cut her hair. Now, however, we were too different. I was sharp, hard, and muscled. She was muscular, but softer somehow, with curves instead of angles. We were opposites of ourselves, and I loved that.

I yelped, jerking my hand back as she dabbed a bit harshly at my wounds with a new, soap ridden rag. She didn't expect me to move, and I pulled my hand from her grip and getting a very good look at my hand. I paled, staring at it. She shook her head, but she couldn't find words. I couldn't find any either. Where my fingers had been, there was only mangled flesh and stumps. My pinky finger was gone, along with the corner of my palm that the finger used to sit on; my ring finger bitten through and was only a quarter inch stub, though a very sharp angle, like the hound had gotten my hand in its jaws at an angle. Which it did, I realized, as I looked at my middle finger, which was only half gone but at the same angle as my ring finger. I swallowed thickly as Olivia took my hand and continued to clean it up and wrapping it with gauze.

She turned to look at my right arm and I looked down at it. It was cut into, with a big bite mark around my forearm. I shrugged off my jacket and she helped me out of my shirt. I know someone else would've just cut the shirt off, but it was one of the only shirts I had. I couldn't be slicing it up. My arm was bleeding profusely, and the cuts were really deep, but I would heal just fine as long as we cleaned the wounds. She nodded a little and added a little more soap to the rag after she cleaned it out. After gagging me with another rag, she started cleaning my arm. I gripped her uninjured leg and bit into the rag, whining into it as she cleaned it.

It took a while, but she finally finished and rinsed my wounds with a regular soaked rag before binding my arm with bandages. We did this a lot and I hated it, but we healed quickly every time. I nearly lost my arm once, at my shoulder, but it healed up within two weeks and now I only had a scar to show for it.

I lifted my arms, looking down at the purple blots of blood on my ribs, under my skin. Horrible bruises and blood rupture really only meant one thing. Broken ribs. I gritted my teeth around my gag, and Olivia took a deep breath and started to nudge the ribs back in place, taking care with each rib. I trusted her, she had done this before on me, but if she messed up and pressed a rib inward, it could stab one of my organs or my lungs. Not a good thing, so she had to be careful. I shouted curses against the gag as she did her work on both sides. Not all of them where broken but only fractured. Only two managed to get through the fight without even a fracture, though they were probably bruised. In the end I had seventeen broken ribs and five fractured ribs. She wrapped my torso with more gauze, keeping the ribs in place so they could heal.

She kissed my forehead and I sat up slowly, groaning in pain as I spat out the rag. My vision went black for a second. I blinked quickly and realized I was seeing two of Olivia. I covered my face, feeling the world spin around me. I felt her hands on my shoulders and she gently laid me down on my sleep bag, stuffing my shirt and her extra jacket under my head before putting my jacket over my exposed chest followed by a blanket.

"It's okay, just gotta answer questions for me." I went to nod in agreement, but my head spun like crazy, even though I was lying down. "Hey, hey, no moving. What's your name?" Name? Fuck, names…

"Mitchell," I gasped finally and I felt a wet rag at my lips, dripping water into my mouth. I eagerly drank the water that she gave me, thankful. Her hands were warm and I felt safe. She pulled the rag away when it was depleted of water.

"Where are you?" She asked gently as she washed the blood from my face and neck. I sighed comfortably, hoping that I could sleep soon. I figured I'd just have to answer these questions and she'd let me sleep. I liked that idea, so I answered readily.

"Richmond." She put the rag at my mouth again, letting me suck the water from it.

"What day is it?"

"September 24," I replied. More water entered my mouth, and I sighed with pleasure, hoping that she was drinking as well. I opened my eyes slowly. The room wasn't spinning as badly now, and I could only see one of Olivia. She was washing her face off with a different rag and she got a water bottle for me. She uncapped it slowly; using the last bit of her strength to do so, and gave it to me. I drank slowly, just sipping it. At least I had enough sense to do that and not chug it.

"Good boy," she teased and I smirked back. "You can sleep, I think. Since you're aware and stuff. But damn, boy, next time don't get a concussion in the middle of a snowstorm and then not tell me or show symptoms until a couple hours later, okay?" I rolled my eyes, though it made my head hurt too much. I sipped some more water, and sat up slowly.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. I'll sleep when I'm done fixing you up." She sighed, going to protest, but I snatched the rags from her. I moved slowly, and she helped me stay upright, but eventually we got her shirts off. She sat before me in only jeans and a bra, and I felt a little awkward. We hadn't seen each other so naked in years, since we were four or five. I unwrapped her shitty self-bandage job and winced. She side was slashed into, like the hound had clawed her. They were deep and I could see some of her ribs in one of them. Luckily, they were thin. After rinsing the rags, I set to work cleaning her wounds, with her now biting onto the rag. She flinched a lot more than I did, but didn't make much noise besides a low growl every now and then. After rinsing the wounds, I dressed them and cleaned the skin around the bandage site.

I let her put on her shirt as I rolled her pants' leg up. I stared it and she whimpered in pain. Now, broken ribs, missing fingers, deep cuts were one thing, but this was something entirely different. I didn't even know how she managed to get us back to the abandoned house we were staying in. No wonder it took us hours to make a ten minute trip. The dog must've stepped onto her leg full force. Her leg was completely concaved in. Splinters of bone poked out of her skin and flesh, and her knee cap and femur were visible through the mashed up flesh. I gagged and she coughed in pain. I forced her to lay down and I covered her eyes with another rag. I didn't know how to heal this.

"Diagnosis, Doc?" She asked softly and I sighed weakly, looking at her.

"I don't know what to do, Oli. It's fucked up. It's not about setting the bone back into place…It's not one fracture or one break, it's hundreds." She breathed in slowly, nodding. "Look, you'll heal. We always do. But you'll have to take it easy, okay?" I said softly. "I'll bind it up…" She nodded slowly and I gave her my half-finished water bottle, and settled next to her leg.

I did what I could; taking out fabric that had melded into her flesh, along with anything else that didn't belong. I aligned the biggest pieces of the bone, and got rid of the smaller ones that were really just splinters at that point. I cleaned it, soaping it up really good. It wouldn't do to get an infection in her leg. Finally, I got a piece of wood, as straight as I could find in the pile we gathered for fire, and bound it to her leg, keeping it straight so it would set properly.

After it was all done, I sat back and helped her into her sleeping bag. She looked so tired and weak. She looked how I felt. I sighed and gave her another water bottle and got my own before sliding into my own sleeping bag, and spreading the blanket over the both of us. The fire crackled and soon I heard her sleeping, hearing her soft breaths. I breathed in slowly, closing my eyes. I couldn't get the image of my missing fingers out of my head, nor her fucked up leg. I let loose one dry sob before locking my emotions up and closing my eyes.

I knew she'd lose the leg if we weren't careful. We'd just have to be careful.

_Please have mercy on us tomorrow._ I prayed to whatever was listening before I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion I had felt since before the battle with the hound take over. I was sleeping within seconds.

* * *

The morning light was dim with the clouds covering the sky. At least it stopped snowing. I sniffed some, crawling carefully out of my sleeping bag. Just the mere act of sleeping had made my bones feel much better. It didn't hurt as much to breathe or twist my body. It hurt to lift my arms above my head, though, so I carefully but quickly pulled on my long sleeved gray shirt. We'd have to wash our clothes today. I wasn't going to sit in bloody clothes, thanks.

But for now, I had to get the fire going again. I broke a piece of wood over my knee and tossed it into the fireplace before grabbing some old newspaper. I struck a match and lit the newspaper and tucked it under the logs, watching as the flames caught onto the wood. I turned away from the fire, reluctantly, and got to making some breakfast. Soup, again, yum.

As I heated the soup up over the fire, Olivia woke up. I helped her out of her sleeping bag, and helped her into the bathroom. I stirred the soup as she insisted to walk back on her own. She walked last night, she would walk this morning. I rolled my eyes, looking over from my spot. She gripped the walls and the railing of the rotted stairs as she limped over. It was obvious she was in pain. I sighed heavily and got her a bowl of soup and gave it to her as she sat down heavily. She thanked me in a breathless way, and sipped the soup. I got my own bowl and mirrored her, savoring the warmth that leaked into my muscles and bones.

"Hey, I'm going to wash our clothes today," I said absentmindedly and her gaze darkened. "Look, girl, you can't walk five feet without being in pain and out of breath. You're just gonna have to stay here and off that foot until your leg heals. I'll get you a crutch while I'm in town." I said sternly, sipping my soup. She didn't reply, but just turned to turn on the shitty radio we had fished out of the garbage. It belted out a crackling country song and I sighed heavily and just finished my soup.

I got ready quickly as to not add insult to injury to Olivia. She was still sulking about being left behind. I pulled my jacket over my ruined shirt, and pulled the hood over my head. I glanced into the mirror over the fireplace. Though it was stained and dirty, you could still see enough in it, and I looked like shit. My lips, just as full and pale as Olivia's, were a purplish hue. My cheek was bruised, and my eyes were dark purple. At least they weren't swollen. I breathed in slowly, wincing at the pain in my sides, and grabbed our knapsack. I stuffed it with all of our clothes, our extra pair of pants, her extra shirt and jacket, my extra jacket, our two pair of socks, and the only other shirt I had, a ratty old undershirt, a wife beater, though I didn't really like that term.

"Be back soon. Stay on your ass," I ordered her, as I tied my boots, and left the ratty house, closing the door tight behind me. It was loud outside, as it was supposed to be in the city. However, all the sounds were distant, deeper in the city. I shouldered the knapsack, and trudged down the stairs. The snow had pretty much melted, and it was just a soggy, dirty mess now. I nearly slipped and fell on my ass a few times, which would've been exactly what I needed, a broken tailbone along with everything else.

The laundromat that we went to was the closest to our rat hole. It was small, with only a few washers and dryers. The lady behind the counter always flirted with me when I was there without Olivia. Today, when I walked in, was no different despite me looking like I lost a fight with a bear. Which I didn't, I killed the fucker. I smirked a little, giving the lady a sharp look when she mentioned my butt. I just went to a washer and tossed the clothes into the washer before shrugging out of my jacket and taking my shirt off, tossing them into the washer. I glanced to the woman, but she was reading her magazine again. Grateful that she wasn't watching me, I started the washer and sat back, watching the clothes.

I sat on the plastic chair; legs crossed and elbow resting on my knee, head resting on my hand. I watched the clothes, bored. It was a thrilling job, cleaning clothes. At least back in the day you were actually doing something, not staring at something else doing it for you. I smiled a bit to myself. I knew I would've hated to live back then, though it might've been easier for us to get jobs.

I started to daydream as I put the clothes into dryer about a world where runaways were rouges, fighting monsters and dark elves, dragons and devils. True, we hadn't faced elves or demons, but I imagined us being stronger than what we were, feared across the land. I wondered where we'd be in books like _Eragon_. Dressed in leather armor with black cloaks. Our hoods would hide our faces, and no one would know our full names. We'd be able to use magic, but we'd prefer using swords and bows. No one would doubt our powers, and maybe, just maybe, we'd be Dragon Riders.

I checked the time and sighed a little. Maybe I could go to the library after cleaning clothes and read a little.

"What the hell happened to you?" I jumped up, groaning when the movement caused me pain. I turned to look at the voice that spoke and narrowed my eyes. Tall, taller than me, blonde hair, blue eyes, cocky smirk, and standing there like he hadn't done anything wrong. "How did that happen?"

"Are you shitting me?" I snapped, and his eyes widened a little, like he didn't expect me to curse. I suddenly realized that he still saw me as ten, bouncing around, eagerly trying to be exactly like him. I hated him and I wanted to punch him right across his arrogant face. "You know what happened? A bitch with wings, a lady with a snake body, a dragon, twenty or so giant dogs, and a bunch of guys who try to mug us in every city, that's what happened. No thanks to you. You left, so leave now," I hissed at him, well aware that if I yelled I'd look like a crazy person and my sides would scream in pain.

Seth's eyes softened and he sighed heavily. "Look, there's a reason I left, okay Mitch?" He murmured, stepping forward but I quickly pushed him back with more strength than he realized I had. He stumbled back before he could find balance again and when he faced me again, he reeled back quickly. I lowered my clenched fist, watching him hold the side of his face. He straightened slowly, rubbing the spot I had punched, his eyes dark. "Mitch, just listen to me. You can't stay in Richmond. I promise, I will explain everything when I have the chance, okay? Look," he said quickly, pulling a map out of his string backpack, and laid it out on the folding table for me to look at. "Here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "there's a bus station there. Go there, and I'll meet you two, and I will tell you everything. And here's my number," He said and I almost believed him as he circled the spot with a black pen, and then wrote down a ten digit number before folding the map up and giving it to me.

I took it before crumpling it and tossing it into the trash, glaring at him. "Fuck off, Seth. We've survived without you; we'll continue to survive without you. And if we do die, it'll be on your hands. Just leave." I said tonelessly, knowing that my voice could threaten to reveal my true feelings. I turned away and sat down again, slowly as to avoid any unneeded pain. There was a silence, and I glanced over. He was gone and I sighed, covering my face.

I felt broken and torn. Seth was my big brother, a father that I had never known. He taught me so much and I thought we would be safe for once. I wondered if he could've adopted us and if we could've gone to a real school instead of learning what we could from the library. I wondered why I had even trusted him when he left. I had felt so betrayed, but a part of me wondered if he left because of me or Olivia. What if we had somehow drove him away? That was the worst feeling of the entire bunch. I breathed in slowly and stood when the dryer buzzed. I pulled out my other shirt, a dark red long sleeved shirt, and pulled it on before dragging my jacket over it. I hissed in pain, but quickly folded all of the clothes and stuffed them into the knapsack.

Olivia was not going to believe this.

* * *

"_What?_" Olivia snapped, glaring at me. I shrugged without much merit. What was I going to say? "Ha-ha, got you!"? Yeah, she would've stabbed me, and besides it did happen. She huffed and glared at the fireplace. I dropped the knapsack, and sat next to her, putting the crutch I had stolen next to her. She eyed it with distaste, but didn't comment on it. We sat in silence for a while, me sharpening the daggers we still had, wondering why we had decided to keep them.

"What did he say?" She asked softly and I looked at her. I could lie, and tell her that he didn't really want anything, that he just saw me and struck up a conversation. I didn't want to hurt her with his lies of explanation, that he made another promise. She would only cling to it and hope, like I wanted to. But when I looked at her, with her big blue eyes, worried and scared and scarred, I couldn't lie to her. We only had each other and if we betrayed that trust, we'd have nothing.

"He said he had a reason for leaving. He said we weren't safe in Richmond, and that we needed to meet him in a bus station outside of the city. He said he'd explain everything." Olivia shook her head slowly. I just went back to sharpening the blades, waiting her decree, figuring she'd beg to go and hear him out.

"He's appeared when we're the most injured we've been in a very long time," she finally said. I looked at her, and then furrowed my brows. I hadn't thought of that. Had he been following us or was this just coincidence? I frowned, looking back at the dagger in my hand, the dagger he had given me, promising me that he'd teach me to use it. I twirled it with a frown, looking at the fire. "There has to be a reason for that, right?" She asked me and I shrugged. How was I supposed to know? She was the brains of this duo. I was the bulk, the brawn, and the idiot.

"Look, we should go," she started and I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples. "Hear me out, Mitch. We're fucked up bad. You can barely breathe without feeling pain, and I can't walk. What happens if a monster attacks us here, at home base? We're royally screwed here, and we need every piece of help we can get."

"We shouldn't go, Oli. It's more than dangerous. We'd be leaving the city and the monsters will swarm us, you know that just as much as I do. Not only that, but I don't trust this asshole. He'll tell us that he'll meet us, but he won't be there and we'll be cornered. We should just stay here until we heal."

"No, Mitchell, we need to go. We've been here too long anyways. We'll have made trails back here by now, and another mutt will just follow them straight to us." I shook my head, scowling as I stood.

"Then go." I snapped, going to go into the bathroom.

"Mitchell!" She yelled, frowning, "I won't leave you, you know that."

"You can't leave me, Olivia. You _can't walk_." I snarled, closing the door behind me. I could feel her glare through the door and I shuddered a little.

"Well fuck you, too!" She yelled and I sighed heavily, regretting my words. But I was too proud to admit it right then. She wasn't thinking clearly. She wanted to charge in and trust him blindly again, like we didn't have enough problems. I sat in the bathtub, staring at my knees.

I hated my life. I always had. When we were kids, the only good thing I could remember was that once, _once_, my mother had taken us to the playground. We had played for hours until she came back and picked us up. We were barely five when she left. I could remember, vaguely, what she looked like. She had long strawberry blonde hair and freckles. I don't remember her eye color, but I always imagined her with green eyes. She was young; I remember that, maybe nineteen with two jobs and two kids.

One day she stood up, got ready for work, and left. She never came back. We were there for days. At first it was really fun. We did whatever we wanted. But when she didn't come back, Olivia started to cry, and I started to get scared and I wanted to cry, too, but I had to be strong for Oli. So we waited. We ate whatever we could, and slept in her bed. When someone finally came in, it wasn't our mom, but some old lady with an unhappy look.

After that we were shuffled around to a bunch of different foster homes. Some were good, some were really bad. The last one we went to was a home that was considering adoption. They chose Olivia. I didn't blame them. I would've chosen Olivia, too. But Olivia didn't want to leave me, and we screamed and cried and they finally gave up for the day, vowing that the next day, I would be back in the system and Olivia would be their new daughter. We ran away and hid in the city, in Chicago. A few days later Seth found us, and we lived with him for a few years…then he vanished and we were left to fight off monsters by ourselves. A couple of ten year olds killing giant dogs and snake women, how fucked up is life?

We nearly died the first year or so, but we got the hang of surviving.

I hated that we had to learn how to kill so young, that we couldn't look at the shadows the same or sleep soundly. I just wanted a regular home and a regular life and I wanted to go to school and have girlfriends and maybe try out for a sport, and just be _normal_.

I finally stood and left the bathroom. Olivia was lying down, listening to the radio. I sat down next to her, looking at her. She looked back up at me, her eyes big and blue and wonderful. I raised one of my eyebrows and she sighed a little. "You're right."

"I know I am," I replied softly. "We can't trust him. We never could. 'Fool me once, shame on you,'" I said. She nodded slowly, sitting up slowly, leaning against me. She rested her head on my shoulder and I stroked her hair, closing my eyes.

"I just miss home."

"Girl, I am your home," I said sternly. She chuckled and we just listened to the crackling radio for a while. After a few songs, I decided that it would be best to leave Richmond, maybe go to D.C. "We will leave, okay? We can head over to D.C., and settle for a while there. Maybe even find a school we can go to." She laughed at that, and I smirked a little. There was no way that we'd ever be accepted into a school. We didn't have the paperwork for it. I kissed her temple. "We'll leave when you're more healed."

"No, when _you're_ more healed," she countered with a smile. I rolled my eyes and let her lay down again. I grabbed a water bottle, and went into the bathroom. I washed my hair using the mirror for help. My hair was longer than it needed to be. It reached my shoulders in the back, and my bangs were to my chin. I frowned and went to get the scissors we had found. They were dull, but they'd work. I returned to the front of the mirror and trimmed my hair until it was reaching my ears. It was still a little long, but it didn't look too bad.

I left the bathroom to find the sun setting and my sister sleeping. I got more wood on the fire, and then settled to read my favorite book and the only book we actually bothered to keep around. _A Fault In Our Stars_ comforted me, in a very weird way. I hated that we had to fight monsters all the time. I wanted to just live a normal life, and if the biggest concern I had was cancer, that would be a heavenly experience. It was a normal problem, it was realistic and I couldn't fight it with a sword. It wasn't a problem where I went to bed wondering if I was crazy. It was a problem that I could fear, and it took more strength to fight that than to lift a sword and fight a giant dog.

I read for a few hours, but I didn't get very far. Like my sister, I had very bad dyslexia. I thought it was just because I was stupid that I couldn't read, but when Seth taught me properly, I just realized my brain was wired wrong or something like that. The words jumped around the page and letters did flips and somersaults. But I liked reading, so I read slowly, my finger following each word, like it was a herding dog keeping the letters in line. I had to read each word first, understand that it was that word, and then put the entire sentences together. I read by word, not by sentence. It was a slow process, but it was a good distraction.

I fell asleep reading.

* * *

The following days were boring and long. Healing was a pain. We'd clean our wounds and put new bandages on three times a day for me, five times a day for Olivia. I had to go out and steal more food and more gauze. I managed to lift a bottle of Jack Daniels as well. We didn't drink, often, but it was so strong, it would be good for cleaning our wounds since we were out of soap as well. I could've stolen soap, true, but I liked the idea of booze instead.

I went out only in the very early morning or before sunset. I wasn't going to test the shadows or my luck. But I didn't like being out during the day and leave Olivia behind at the house, pretty much defenseless. My right arm was healing well, and soon I could lift things with ease and no pain again. My left hand, with my missing fingers, was also healing well. It still bled a little when I used my hand too much, but after Olivia had stitched the wounds closed, they were healing much faster.

I also had to stitch closed the cuts on her side. Her leg was nearly impossible to stitch up, but I did my best. It was scarred, marred, and ugly. Swollen red with pus, it was the grossest thing ever. I made her soak the leg in Jack Daniels, stealing more of the alcohol so she could. She screamed into the gag, hating it, but I didn't care. She couldn't get an infection. Finally it started to heal.

We couldn't do much about my ribs. The fractures had healed with little problem, and the broken bones were healing quickly as well. My sides were still bruised, with blood under the skin, and it still hurt to breathe in deeply, but it started to hurt less and less. Soon the cuts on my arm were shallow and covered in scabs or a pale pink from where I picked the scabs off. Olivia's sides were healing, and they only hurt a little with pressure. So we started to do some physical training. She would practice walking back and forth. She was still wobbly, but she was getting stronger every day. I, however, did the regular workout that I did. Pushups, sit ups, lifting Olivia when she would let me, and pull ups. I ran every morning to make sure I didn't get soft in my legs as well.

About a month passed before Olivia's leg stopped bleeding. She walked awkwardly and ran even more awkwardly, but she was strong enough to travel. My hand was nearly completely healed, and my arm was just a mass of scars in the shape of a giant dog's bite mark. My sides still hurt a little, but the broken bones were only fractures now. It was a good a time as any to pack up and move to D.C., so that's exactly what we did.

Hopping from city to city is tricky. You have to make sure you know where you're going and how much it'll cost you to get there, and the costs didn't always mean money.

We packed up our possessions, the clothes, my book, our shitty radio, our scissors, the few water bottles we had left, the cans of food I managed to steal, our meager amount of money, my journal, Olivia's journal, a harmonica Seth gave me and two pictures. The first picture was us, when we were with Seth. Olivia had lost her last baby tooth, and she was holding it in her palm. I was beaming next to her as she showed it off. I remember how excited she was.

The second was the only picture we had of our mother. She was seventeen in the picture, with her long blonde hair. She wore daisy dukes and a floral tank top. Her wrists were adorned in all kinds of bracelets, and she had several necklaces and rings on. She was wearing black flip-flops with a few toe rings on, and she wore blue tinted aviators. She stood in front of the Atlantic, grinning against the setting sun. She was beautiful. Our father had supposedly taking the picture.

We left our rat's nest, and walked to a crowded shopping center, a square in an old part of town. I sat down in the mouth of an alley between an art gallery and a coffee shop. Olivia sat a little in front of me, adjusting her jacket and shirt and her hair. She put out a water bottle we had cut in half. A few people glanced to us, but didn't start to stop until I started to play the harmonica. Olivia sang, looking as pathetic as she possibly could. I had taken off my bandages to show off my hand and its lack of fingers. She had rolled up her jeans to expose the ugly, marred leg.

We got pity money within minutes.

A few hours later, we raked in about a hundred dollars. It was enough for the both of us with money to spare. We bought some more water and cheap subs at a gas station, and then walked to the greyhound bus station. I was very much aware that we were going to a bus station, like Seth had wanted us to, but it was a different station and he would've left the city by now.

We entered the station, bought our tickets for the next departure, and settled in some chairs. I pulled out my journal, an old fake black leather bound book I had found in a dumpster in Daytona, Florida. I flipped to the last written page, eyeing the phone number that Seth had given me. I frowned, and closed the journal. He was getting to me, and I was starting to doubt myself. Had I made the wrong choice for us? Seth couldn't be trusted, but then again, were we any safer away from him?

I tried to shove the thoughts out of my head. I didn't need doubts holding me down. Doubting got a man killed on the streets, whether he was facing a gang or a monster. I wasn't going to die anytime soon.

I thought back to my favorite book, _The Fault In Our Stars_. Dying was to be expected for everyone, but most people had years to live before they even had to worry about never waking up again. Some people, people like Gus and Hazel, had to face death face on at a very young age, while others choose to face it every day, soldiers and doctors. Others still don't have to, but for whatever reason, they do anyways. I figured Olivia and I into that category. There were a ton of people like us, teenagers on the street just like it, that never faced giant dogs or two headed women or a Cyclops, yet we did. I didn't know why, but there it was. There were choices we had to be making that led us down this path. Who else had to face monsters every day? It was bizarre, and the world couldn't have been that cruel.

Thinking back on Hazel and Gus, and realized that only people in certain positions have a feeling when they'll die. I didn't know what Gus felt, but Hazel had a rough idea. Young, tragic, and horribly timed was her death. Still, people have a sense for their final seconds on earth. Myself? I felt like a young death was waiting for me. I wouldn't live to see my twenty fifth birthday. That scared me and I wanted to run from death. I frowned and shook my head to clear my head. I didn't want to think about death right after doubting my choice to bring us this way.

I watched people instead, and watched Olivia sketch them out, quickly and with little solid shape. It was all scribbles that resembled each person in a very abstract way. She focused more on the body type instead of actual details. I loved watching her draw, with her quick strokes. It was like she knew how the picture was going to come out, even before she started. I wished I could see life like that. To know what was to come, even just a hint, would be a tremendous blessing. I watched her until it was time to board, and I nudged her out of her stupor. We boarded the bus and sat in an emergency seat, me on the outside and hand on my dagger.

I continued to watch her draw as we traveled, though keeping a watchful on the people around us. It was a long drive, but not completely unbearable. When we stopped at another station to pick up some other people, we switched spots so I got a chance to just relax. I wrote in my journal the thoughts I had been having, the doubts and the worry and the so-called knowledge of my death. I wrote quickly, with little care of how neat my writing was. I enjoyed my messy writing. It looked like a proper journal in my eyes when it was messy. Messy, in my mind, meant passionate. Taking care, making sure everything was perfect, was boring. It was hardly something to aim to do. Messy was fast, like you couldn't wait to get it all out and onto some paper. Olivia agreed with me. It was why her sketches were never just straight lines and defined figures so perfectly drawn. They were passionate feeling before the logical reason.

Why couldn't life be like that? I paused in my writing, looking out the window, watching the landscape as it passed. Messy and passionate, but planned and beautifully sculpted. Maybe some people's lives were like that, but mine certainly wasn't. It was wild, chaotic, and with little beauty. I craved beauty and simplicity, with passion and safety. Yes, above all I craved safety.

Two hours later, we were in D.C., leaving the bus quickly and leaving without a look back. Getting in a new city was the worst part of city hopping. You didn't know the gang lines, you didn't know the places to get food, where there was less security, and you didn't know where the more dangerous spots of the city were. You only knew that you were there, on the street, facing the shadows with your guard up.

The day passed as we talked casually to a few vagabonds. We were slowly finding our place in the city as we talked to them. We encountered only one violent gang while we explored, and I quickly established myself to them, and promised never to enter their territory again. When the sun was setting, we found ourselves a small corner of the city, under eaves of apartments and nestled behind a dumpster. I let Olivia have the first sleep while I kept watch. We switched half way through the night.

I woke early in the morning and we left to find a public bathroom. After washing in the sink, I waited outside the bathroom for her of the small café that we had found. She came out a few minutes later, eyes scanning the cork screw billboard that was on the wall. I could tell she wanted to stop and look at the fliers for the galleries and art shows and museums that were collected there. I just took her hand and gently led her out of the little coffee shop.

"Wanna go to the park?" I asked and she looked up at me with big eyes.

"You're crazy, Mitch. We have to find a place to stay." She said with a slight sigh. I chuckled some, shrugging.

"Yeah, but we have all day for that. You can sketch a little at the park, and we can just enjoy the fresh air. Maybe we can go running, let you get in some good practice." She smiled a little, glancing around before shrugging as well. We wandered around until we found a park. I held the knapsack when we found the track for running. I wrote in my journal as she ran for a good while. Finally she sat down next to me, breathless, and took the bag from me.

As I ran, I thought of the beauty of morning. The innocence it provided. I wanted nothing more than to soak in the beauty, and then I wished I was thinking about how annoying the rising sun was, because that meant the start of school. I pushed the thought of a normal life out of my head, and ran as hard and as fast as I could. Finally I stopped, and Olivia stood, taking my hand.

"Let's go for a walk."

So we did. We walked and joked and laughed like we hadn't done in a long time. We talked about our dreams, the good ones and the nightmares that we kept having. We talked about how much we loved coffee, and that maybe we should get some really soon. Olivia had me sit down in front of a tree and she sketched me in the morning light. We sat by a small duck pond, watching the ducks swim about, quacking and enjoying the morning as much as we were. Soon, more and more people started to show up, running and walking and enjoying the day as much as they could. Olivia made us some money by sketching people. I dozed under a tree while she worked.

It seemed that the day passed too quickly. I realized we had wasted the entire day at the park, swinging, walking, running, writing, and drawing. We were idiots.

"Come on," I said as I watched the sun set behind the buildings. Olivia nodded with narrowed eyes. I turned to walk down the path, to find the exit, when I saw a strange shadow behind the bench. I tensed and drew my dagger just as Olivia drew hers. The shadow shifted and moved and stepped into the path. I swallowed thickly, staring at giant paws, which led up giant legs, to a beautiful face of a woman.

"Oh my god," I heard Olivia said next to me. I cleared my throat as the Sphinx smiled down at us and sat down, leering down at us.

"To pass, you must answer a riddle," she cooed and I shivered, glancing to Olivia for only a second, and then looked at the monster before us. "If you answer incorrectly, I get to eat you. If you refuse to play, I get to kill you."

I stepped back once, before setting my jaw, realizing I was shaking a little, while Olivia was still as a statue. The Sphinx purred a little, lying down and crossing her paws. Suddenly Olivia spoke up. "We should get two chances." The Sphinx didn't seem to like that, hissing a little. "We're twins," Olivia said quickly, "So we only have half a brain. The other half is with the twin, so we should get two chances, one for each half."

I furrowed my brows, but when the monster looked at me, I nodded quickly. It seemed to think for a minute before nodding once. "Very well, that makes sense." While I was wondering in what universe that made sense, she continued on. "The riddle is this: You can only keep me after you've given me up. What am I?"

Well, fuck. We were dead. Olivia paled a little as she thought. I scrambled for an answer. Money? No, that made no sense. Anything you gave away you couldn't keep. This didn't make any sense!

"Boy, do you have an answer?" The Sphinx said harshly. I swallowed, looking at her.

"Uh…Happiness?" I tried. She hissed a little, grinning with anticipation of killing us. I looked to Olivia, hoping desperately that she had the answer.

Suddenly she looked like she got it.

"Well, I have it. But I don't want him to know because he couldn't get it." She said haughtily and I frowned, glaring at her. The Sphinx laughed at that as Olivia crept closer to her. I suddenly realized that she had the dagger in her good hand, and dangerously closer to the Sphinx's neck. I stepped forward, pretending to look like I was trying to listen. I heard her whisper into the Sphinx's ear.

"Death."

And quick as lightning she slashed the Sphinx's neck. I lunged forward and embedded my own dagger into its eye, twisting the blade violently and plunging it deeper. The monster shrieked in pain, and thrashed away from us, snarling in pain, but it was already falling apart in dust. Olivia leapt back as one massive paw came crashing down, dangerously near her already mauled leg. Without warning the entire creature disintegrated into dust, though not before she shouted something in what sounded like Ancient Greek. My dagger clattered to the ground amongst the dust. I picked it up quickly and grabbed Olivia's arm and yanked her along, running towards the exit.

I didn't stop running until we had found our tiny alley way where we had slept the night before. Olivia fell down beside me, breathing heavily as I bent over to catch my breath. Olivia laughed a little, shaking her head. I glanced to her, frowning.

"Just another warm welcome," she mumbled, closing her eyes with a sigh. I swallowed thickly and sat down next to her, sitting against the wall. I was an idiot.

We were _no_ safer than before. We were worse off. Olivia, despite how well she healed, ran awkwardly. Had I wanted to, I could've easily out run her. Her leg was completely fucked up. I refused to leave her behind, so we were both stuck out in the open, waiting to be found and killed. And there was nothing we could do about it. I closed my eyes, crossing my arms over my knees and putting my head down.

How could I have dragged her right into this city, knowing that it would be exactly what we had always faced? I pulled my tears back. What was I thinking? I felt so stupid and weak and useless. I made one of the worst decisions I ever had. How could I daydream about finding a way out of this life, away from the alley way bedrooms and monsters in the shadows, and then throw away the chance that we got? I breathed in sharply and stood, fishing for my journal in our bag.

"I'm getting Seth." I said to Olivia as I stepped over her and walked out to the street to find a payphone.


End file.
